Song of Myself

“Greater Addisonia is a large and populous place. To riff on Walt Whitman, ‘It is large, it contains multitudes.’ Some of those multitudes will be familiar to regular visitors of Addisonia: the mustachioed painter (and his ribald muses), the adorable and pudgy offspring (with something up their sleeves), the not-so-suburban couples, with their dubious coiffures, the standing-erect and verbose wildlife, with so much to say (if at a distance).”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

Addison

By Mark Addison Kershaw

ATLANTA Georgia—(Weekly Hubris)—1 June 2022—Editor’s Note: Greater Addisonia is a large and populous place. To riff on Walt Whitman, “It is large, it contains multitudes.” Some of those multitudes will be familiar to regular visitors to Addisonia: the mustachioed painter (and his ribald muses), the adorable and pudgy offspring (with something up their sleeves), the not-so-suburban couples, with their dubious coiffures, the standing-erect and verbose wildlife, with so much to say (if at a distance). Rasputin (I ask you! Rasputin, dead these 106 years!) even makes an appearance this month, wearing an anatidaean inner tube and approaching the deep blue sea. (Addisonia, I tell you, contains multitudes.)